


my lungs fill with flowers

by zuus



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, i think, idk - Freeform, im not dead, loving, relationship, soft, there might be more people, uh idk, uhhh yep thats it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-11-19 14:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuus/pseuds/zuus
Summary: uh hey its me again yeah might be shitty in the beggining and maybe like uh idkread it if u wantleave me if u canmurder me if u pleasethnxdont get excitedit's shit





	1. first one

**Author's Note:**

> okay im back 
> 
> thats just it
> 
> call me out on any mistakes  
> grammar ones or not  
> call me out if u think of something to better this  
> or just call me and we can go out ;-)))))
> 
>  
> 
> also this is super short  
> and u have my blessing to murder me while i sleep

the paintings speak to you way before they are ready, whispering how they should be made, with how much emotion, with how much devotion.

it drives you crazy sometimes, makes you feel like a tool used way too many times, but, at the same time, you never felt so connected to anything like that before.

and when you feel the paint dripping from your hands, you feel complete, even though, in some ways, you feel like every painting carries pieces of you.

and you live off of the feeling. the feeling of mattering, of doing something that is somehow productive and fits in today's society, even though you hate to admit it.

you bathe in wonder of how could it be, that even with everything it made you feel, the paint didn't fill all of the blanks.

 

 

 

you meet her at a gallery.

you trip over your own feet in surprise.

she is looking at one of your most recent works, one that you are not very proud of, its messy and it holds way too much emotion, but she reaches out, as if to touch it, stopping herself before she could, and tracing the air in front of it, as if somehow comforting it.

 

she holds your attention for the rest of the night, and if you lose her among the crowd, you only have to wait few minutes to find her, as her loud laugh draws you to her, each time more.

 

she leaves before you can stop her,

but when you stand at 4 a.m. of that same night,

trying to project the warm of her eyes into a canvas,

the painting lets you be,

it does not whisper, not once.

 

 

it makes you feel warm

like it finally surrendered 


	2. you build me up as i destroy myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me not dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the aliens had me sorry

You paint her as a soft pink, as a warm summer night.   
You paint her as a sunset yellow, as a lilac sky. 

 

It takes fifty two hours, and a lot of Violet’s persuasion, for you to take a break and maybe even act like a real human being for a few hours.  
Violet calls it obsession, you call it devotion. 

It’s been way too long since you felt that way;  
So intrigued by another ordinary person and it makes your blood boil  
it’s something you’ve been starving for  
Just the plain, raw feeling of curiosity. 

You don’t see her for another to weeks, but somehow she’s everywhere.  
She’s in the warm feeling of strong hot coffee,  
She’s in the corners of your favorite bookstore,  
She’s in the whispers that walk through the night,  
Goddamned she’s right in front of you everytime you close your eyes.

 

She comes to the next exhibition, the one where you display her face as the master piece.  
You don’t stay to see her reaction, you can’t.  
You’re running through your third pack of the day and you curse your hands for not being steady when you move the cigarette towards your lips.

 

You don’t paint that night, and neither the -six? seven?- ones that follow.   
You feel angry at yourself and you feel angry at her.  
How can one destabilize another’s whole world in a matter of minutes?  
How does one hold such power?

 

Violet is angry when she drags you out of the house, shoving a sandwich at your face and demanding you to eat it. She ignores your attempts to even trying to explain, or to find an excuse - you were still torn between the two. 

She shuts you up by threatening to call Ginger and you know better than to fight her. She leaves you at the gallery, with instructions of “painting whatever this shit is out” and part of you - maybe all of you - thanks Violet for knowing you well enough to know when to pull you out off existential shit.

You greet other painters on your way into your office and you nearly drop the lasting half of the sandwich Violet gave you. 

She’s right there, in front of your door - which is clearly your door because it’s covered with stickers about communism, contact and a faded, but still there, drawing of Stalin. She’s just standing there, as if waiting for something, and just when you were about to run the fuck out of there and turn yourself to Ginger, she looks up from her phone and, fucking holy nonexistent god but undefined source of all power, she just had to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thnx for reading dudes

**Author's Note:**

> thnx for reading :-)


End file.
